


who am I to deny you?

by RJ_Hastings



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RJ_Hastings/pseuds/RJ_Hastings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“J-just a moment,” Dorian says, and he wants to kick himself for stuttering. “Just been knocked about by a dragon’s tail. Mite disoriented, don’t mind me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	who am I to deny you?

**Author's Note:**

> #7 “I almost lost you.” (from a prompt meme on tumblr.)
> 
> A bit of info/backstory: [Eli's first kiss.](http://therearenohooksinme.tumblr.com/post/113129213143/first-kiss)
> 
> And yes, I am aware that having the tag 'first kiss' amongst tags like violence and blood is a bit odd, but not overmuch.

_Then…_

When Dorian looks back on it, he finds it all happened in a blur, nothing but shapes and colours and sounds, nothing concrete. It should worry him, and it does, but not as much as it tears at him to have someone else scream his name in terror. 

One moment he is hurling a fireball at the blighted winged beast, the next he is flying backwards. Swiped by the tail, Dorian realizes before he goes ass over end, head cracking against something, a rock perhaps, and landing in a heap far from where he stood previously. He gasps, desperate for air and the pain comes at him like a raging druffalo.  

“Dorian!” Trevelyan screams and it is  _awful_. The Inquisitor’s strident voice rings in his ears as he tries to come back to himself, head pounding. He’s on his hands and knees, recovering, head bowed so low it almost touches the dirt. He feels something warm and wet trickle from his temple to his cheek and Dorian squeezes his eyes tighter together as the pain spreads. A quick inventory tells him some of his ribs are broken, having taken the brunt of the assault, and his head feels too heavy for his neck. His eyes shutter closed. 

_Kaffas, my head feels like it’s going to split open._

“Dorian!” Trevelyan shouts again and Dorian opens his eyes, vision spinning, but getting clearer. 

“J-just a moment,” Dorian says, and he wants to kick himself for stuttering. “Just been knocked about by a dragon’s tail. Mite disoriented, don’t mind me.” He says this, but his vision is becoming black around the edges, exhaustion tearing at him like blighted hounds. 

“Boss, go! I can hold her attention for a bit!” 

 _Ah, Bull. Ever a thoughtful one._ Dorian thinks hazily and then hisses as a wave of pain comes over him, drowning him in hurt. His head drops and his eyes fall shut once more. This sort of blackness, voluntary, is far more soothing than the darkness that creeps at the edges of his sight. That sort of darkness makes Dorian feel like he’s dying and dying is ever so inconvenient. 

“Make haste, Inquisitor. I’d hate to expire when I am so sorely needed.” Dorian rasps, but no one hears him. No one would over Bull’s battle cries and the roaring of the dragon that put him in the position he’s in now. Distantly he hears the twang of a crossbow string and Dorian smiles in spite of himself. 

“ _Dorian._ ”Trevelyan breathes and Dorian wonders when the other man got so close. 

“Hello, dear.” Dorian offers before grimacing. He feels hands on his shoulders and a gentle tugging and then he is no longer on all fours but in the arms of the Inquisitor. Dorian stares into green eyes and  _knows_ he isn’t imagining the concern he sees. 

“Maker’s breath, Dorian.” Trevelyan says, voice cracking and Dorian frowns. Making sure he has the other’s attention, Dorian opens his mouth to speak. The blackness is like a film over his eyes, and Trevelyan’s form dances before him, not quite double, but undoubtedly more than one. Still… 

“Come now, I’m fine. You needn’t -” 

“Dorian!” 

Somewhere behind them the dragon roars. 

* * *

_Before…_

“Surely you jest? Dragon hunting, of all things?” Dorian asks and Trevelyan’s gaze flicks from the map to meet his incredulous stare. 

“She’s been ravaging the forest, making it impossible for any of the villagers to hunt. We’ve been asked to deal with the problem, I see no reason not to.” The Inquisitor says and Dorian huffs. 

“Of course, do this act of good will and the Inquisition will flourish, correct?” Dorian asks, a bit nastily, but Trevelyan knows him enough to know he doesn’t  _really_ mean it. 

“I knew you were more than a pretty face.” Trevelyan says instead of rising to the bait, smirk in his tone if not on his face. 

“Will you be asking anyone else to accompany you?” Asks Josephine and Trevelyan looks away from Dorian to her. 

“Yes. I think Bull will appreciate being asked along. Varric too.” The fact that she doesn't ask about Dorian being included in the party is very telling. 

“Very good, Your Worship. Will you let them know, or shall I?” Her tone is businesslike, the very epitome of efficiency, but there is a softness in her eyes. 

“If you could, please, Josephine. I have something I need to discuss with Lord Pavus.” The  _alone_  is left unsaid, but heard by all. 

To her credit, the Ambassador does not so much as even giggle, but there is a knowing look in her eyes and a smile curving her lips. 

“Of course. If you’ll excuse me, messeres.” 

Both Dorian and Trevelyan acknowledge her departure with a nod, the door of the war room clicking shut gently behind her. 

“Shall we dispense with the riff raff and get right down to what you wished to speak about?” Dorian asks before Trevelyan can try anything. 

“Of course. You know why I want you to come on this excursion, yes?” 

“I do. At least I suppose I do.” Dorian adds the last bit out of unavoidable uncertainty. He and Trevelyan,  _Elyas,_ have only just started whatever they have between them now and Dorian is still getting used to it. 

“Good.” Elyas says and if it sounds a little unsure, more loaded with  _something,_ Dorian chooses not to say anything about it. 

“You do understand that I will complain at every turn, though? Fighting a dragon is not high on my list of priorities after all.” Elyas actually laughs at this, and the sound makes Dorian feel pleasantly warm. 

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t complain about something. For instance, you complain so much about the cold, I worry about you if you don’t.” Elyas admits and Dorian blinks at him in, what he tells himself is, mock surprise. 

“Worried about me? Why, my lord Inquisitor, I’m touched.” Elyas snorts and Dorian grins. 

“Maker’s breath, how does anyone put up with you?” Elyas asks, shaking his head and Dorian’s smile turns into a smirk. 

“Ask me to your quarters after this and I can show you.” 

* * *

_Now..._

“-orian? Dorian can you hear me?” 

 _Who is that?_ Dorian’s mind wonders.  _They sound worried._

“Dorian, please. Say something… anything…” The desperation Dorian hears makes his chest ache, throbbing in time with the pain he feels in his head. 

 _Kaffas,_ his mind hisses. He wants to say something, to allay the worry, but all he can manage is a pained groan. Something squeezes his hand and Dorian groans again. 

“Sorry, I-  _Maker’s breath,_ I’m so glad you’re alive. I thought-” 

Dorian does not hear the rest, drifting off into unconsciousness. The last thing he feels, however, is a puff of breath by his ear, thankfully not on the side where blood trickles from the wound at his temple. 

* * *

When Dorian wakes, eyes opening slowly, it takes him a moment to realize where he is. The vaulted ceilings of the infirmary loom over him and Dorian winces when he breathes in, what he quickly realizes is, too deeply. 

“Dorian?” A voice draws his attention from the ceiling to his left, eyes squinting until he can see Elyas properly. Backlit by the sun’s rays as they stream in from the windows, Elyas looks otherworldly, red gold hair gilded by sunshine. 

“Did we get her?” Dorian asks and Elyas blinks at him before his face draws together in a mixture of relief and upset. It makes Dorian’s heart clench, but he decides not to dwell on it. 

“Andraste’s ass, Dorian! You were nearly killed and you’re asking-  _Yes,_ we got the blighted dragon!” Elyas hisses and Dorian huffs a laugh. 

“What a relief. I’d hate to have gone to all the trouble only to- Elyas, are you all right?” Dorian cuts himself off to ask when he notices the other is holding back tears, Fade green eyes glimmering with them. 

“I swear to the Maker, Dorian… I thought I’d, I thought you had-” 

“You thought what?” Dorian says, not to interrupt, but to encourage. He watches Elyas’ throat bob as he swallows. 

 _So that’s how you keep resolve,_ Dorian thinks absently and then his attention is consumed by Elyas crowding near him, the chair he’d brought over to sit by Dorian’s cot scraping against the stone floor as he stands. Hands, gloveless Dorian notices, come to cradle his face,  _oh so gently,_  and the mattress dips as Elyas braces one knee on the cot. 

“I almost lost you, is what I thought.” Elyas says, voice a whisper and Dorian is floored. Carefully, he takes a deep, fortifying breath and then, with all the courage he can muster, he says, 

“You can’t be rid of me so easily.” 

Elyas stares down at him, hands trembling against Dorian’s cheeks and Dorian brings his own hands up to cover them. The tears Elyas had tried not to shed before come rolling down his cheeks and Dorian frowns deeply. 

“None of that, please,” Dorian tuts, “no shedding tears over the scary Tevinter mage, hm?” Dorian tries, but Elyas shakes his head. 

“I’ll cry over what I damn well please.” He declares and then he is dipping down, pressing his lips to Dorian’s and nothing else matters. 

The kiss is chaste, only the barest sweep of tongue, but it is more than enough. 

“Of course you are,” Dorian concedes when they break apart. “Who am I to deny you that?” 


End file.
